Mason Baveux Wraps Up Hockey

Since there is only one of me and what with work and folks painting the upstairs, I’ve tossed the keys to Mason Baveux to comment on the nonsense that was the Stanley Cup Final and the aftermath in Vancouver.  Mason?

Thanks again for the keys to the bloggery lad.  Much appreciated for the faith and the case.  The Beer Store always has cold Red Cap, even though she’s not brewed by Carling no more. Dammit.

So’s the hockeys come and gone, with Boston beatin BC like a red headed stepchild, but she took seven just the same.  I’m thinkin Roberto Luongo should be puttin in for the disability treatment of PTSD, as the Bruins put so many shots at him, he’s probably gone all jittery as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

Now the games were good, sort of.  No, actually, they sucked worse than Death backin out of the shithouse readin Mad Magazine, with his pants down tis ankles.  I’da almost preferred to watch the Leafs go to the Mini-Putt, as the hockey was so bad.  But what put some aggravationing in me was after Game 7.  Now I’se been to the Forum and I remember the riot after the Canadiens won the cup in ‘86, despite having a load on for three days straight,.  I think I got off the train stupid and went downhill from there.   

Winning the Cup gives you the right to maybe tip over some newspaper boxes, or get the pukes all over the front of someones store, but winning don’t give you the right to set fire to a cop car, or beat the shit out of some guy tryin to keep a bit of order.

Which is what they did in Vancouver, after Vancouver lost the effin series!  Ten thousand pissed off, half in the bag arsewipes started bustin out store windows, settin fires and puttin the boots to folks just tryin to get the hell out of Dodge is not the way you do’er.

First up, you gotta win Lord Stan’s Mug, then you can have your self a wangtime goodtime and give’r all you got Big Shovel!  The excuse bein you were all beered up and things just got a wee bit out of hand.  Sorry about that Officer, but the puke’ll clean off the uniform OK.

But you notice that first part:   You gotta win her.  Vancouver didn’t win’er, so’s the deal is you shut your pie hole, take you lumps, and walk home quietly.  If you gotta hork, you hork in the street, where the street cleaners can mop it up afters.  Nobody gets arrested and nobody gets their clock cleaned by some jackwagon in a black ninja hood just lookin for trouble. 

Nows I’m all for havin a great time and I can’t be throwin the first stone, as I done my share, but if all you want to do is take a special occasion and turn it into your own political statement of just how effed in the head you are, then there’s plenty of much better places to do it, where you can show us just how big a set of clankers you think you got.  One that comes to mind is the old Embassy, up the line in Pembroke.  If all you want to do is brawl, then there’s always a half-dozen lads who’ll oblige you just because it’s Thursday. 

Or you could pick just about any Legion branch you want to choose and you can get about as much roughhouse as your cheekbones can stand.  Some of the old guys in there were in Korea with the PPCLI, or in Cyprus with the 8CH and they’ll teach you the meaning of the word roughhouse.  You won’t have to go to hospital unless you piss them off, but you surely will understand what the medicals describe as subdermal hematoma or an ecchymosis.  You can look’er up.

As for settin cars on fire?  Are you effin nuts?  Some fire lads I know would give you a shot with a Halligan tool just for bein that stupid in public.  Especially if they seen you do it or standin around cheering the fire.  And be assured it will leave a mark on your face you’d have to explain to your Mom and Dad over the Corn Flakes the next morning.

So’s to sum it up.  Vancouver?  That weren’t Good Hockey on the ice.  That also weren’t Good Hockey off the ice afters.  Smarten the hell up.